


Nothing Stands Between

by snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: Killian and Henry will go to any length find Emma and bring her home again. There's nothing in all the realms more powerful than True Love, and they're counting on that to help them no matter what they face.   {Spec fic written in the summer between seasons 4 and 5}
Relationships: Captain Cobra (brotp), Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. you never said goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> (Ever since the season four finale, I wanted to write several scenes dealing with what Killian and Henry will feel being left behind after Emma’s disappearance, and what will happen once she is found again. This took a little longer than I had hoped, but it’s what I came up with. I’ve divided it into two parts; one taking place immediately after the season four finale, and the second one later on.)
> 
> Enjoy, and of course the characters, the show, and the lyrics used at the beginning of the chapters, do not belong to me. The lyrics are from Christina Perri.

__

_ “and in between the soul and the sky… _

_ I know we can make through the night, _

_ ‘cause you never said goodbye…” _

__

__

The metallic clang of the heavy silver dagger striking concrete still rings in his ears like the door of a prison cell slamming shut around his heart. Killian Jones feels his legs give – his muscles water as all the strength drains from him – and he falls to his knees in the middle of Main Street mere feet from where his Swan has vanished. He is unable to turn his eyes from the empty space where she last stood, nor from the curved edge of the infernal blade now bearing her name on its cursed surface, and all that now appears in the place she has vacated. At first, the stricken pirate doesn’t even realize that a guttural noise akin to the cry of a wounded animal is escaping from his own throat; then, Killian senses a presence near him. He feels a strong hand that must be the Prince – her father’s – clamp firmly on his shoulder. Killian’s mouth snaps closed in surprise at the gesture of comfort from this man who has now lost his cherished daughter a third time, and when his teeth clack against each other and the keening ceases, he realizes the wail must have belonged to him.

His head bows, and shame momentarily stains his face, before he raises his visage, and glances over his shoulder to gaze into his friend’s pained royal face. Only 300 years of struggle and accustoming to hurt allow Killian to bring his features under control and to nod at Dave in assurance that he has mastered himself again.

Oh, it will be a fleeting calm; he knows this all too well. Torment still churns and surges just beneath the surface, under his skin. He may be a fearless captain, intrepid adventurer, and survivor; he may have an image to uphold and a reputation to maintain, but he has never felt pain, fear, or anger equal to this. In his long, long life and all his loss and brushes with death, nothing has rocked him to the core and left him as helpless as he feels in this moment. His love, his true anchor, is gone, and what is more, Emma has taken on a curse that may do gods know what to her before they can reach her. That she did it to save them all is as selfless and brave as he has always known her to be, but it leaves him feeling even more impotent in his inability to aid or support her in her sacrifice. It is only realizing he is not alone, that others have lost her too and are also grieving, that enables him to shoulder his agony and stand again on shaking limbs, at least until he can indulge his agony again in private. He has a duty now – to her family as well as Emma herself. Gods help him, she has made him part of something as she offered to do when he took them to Neverland and began his ascent out of villainy following his golden-headed angel. He will stand by her parents and her boy ( _Henry,_ his heart squeezes at the thought of what this will do to Henry) and together they will find her in the darkness and bring her back.

*************88888888888888888888********************

As he had feared and yet anticipated, the lad he has grown to care for as he once did his father too, is crushed by her loss. Killian can see the creases of pain and undeserved guilt on Regina’s face as the boy leans into her embrace at the end of her labored, halting explanation. He, the Charmings, Robin and Regina, staggered wearily back into Granny’s dining establishment where they had left Henry regaling Roland, Archie, Marco, August, Leroy, Ruby, and Belle, who is holding his gurgling young uncle, with the tale of his time within a story – a hero in his own right – with success and pride, and a twinkle of mischief that is all Emma. None of them want to ruin his happiness, but neither can they keep him in the dark, nor lie to him.

As Henry finishes recounting his tale, he looks up at the group who have re-entered the diner and spares them having to find a way to broach the difficult topic by asking, “Where’s Mom?” curiously.

Snow’s pretty face falls and she buries her face in David’s shoulder, trying to hide her tears. Regina’s eyes fall to her feet, unable to meet her son’s until Robin places a gentle, steadying hand on her arm and she steps forward and finds a way to begin.

Killian never lets his gaze stray from the lad, watching the emotions flicker over Henry’s face: the hurt, the confusion, the bitterness over the fact that his mom is once again caught up in a fight she did not begin or deserve to weather. Then Killian sees something take over Henry’s face, an expression he did not know he had needed to draw on until it had appeared. Steely determination, and the unwavering hope which has carried them all this far, takes over the boy’s features, and the lad speaks firmly after clearing his throat and setting his shoulders. “Then we’ll find her,” Henry says simply, looking up at each of them in turn, as if swearing them to his quest. “That’s what this family does.”

Dave lets out a choked sounding bark of a laugh, but then nods, letting Henry know that of course he is right.

Killian hates to overstep his bounds, but he knows that Henry has included him with his words, both in his family and in this venture. “Aye, Lad,” he affirms, speaking gruffly past the lump in his own throat. “That is exactly what we will do.”

***********8888888888888888888*******************

The next morning finds Killian and Henry bent over the desk in his captain’s cabin, studying the numerous maps of the realms that he has collected in his centuries of travel and exploration, realizing what a frustrating and daunting task they have set for themselves. Killian brushes an agitated hand through his already disheveled dark hair, staring down at the particular aged piece of parchment currently holding their interest. The map is of Camelot, which seems the most practical place to search for the famed sorcerer Merlin; however, there is no guarantee that it will lead them any closer to Emma. Granted, she had admonished them to free her from the darkness just before she vanished, and according to the Apprentice, Merlin is the key to them doing so, but doing anything that does not directly bring them closer to her is the opposite of what either he or her boy want.

Nevertheless, he is diligently attempting to show Henry how to map a course, and finding with a pleased sense of pride that Emma’s boy is proving to be a natural. The lad is sharp, inquisitive, and has an excellent memory for all that Killian has previously shown him. They are presently embroiled in finding the best way to reach King Arthur’s legendary castle once docking in his kingdom, and seeing that it may take much more time than either of them would wish, when Henry suddenly clutches the map in his hands, as if to rip it in two. 

The young man’s shoulders shake silently as he leans forward to brace himself on the desk, head bowed as if hiding his emotion from the pirate. Though the tears that must be falling make no sound, the lad is obviously trying to hold onto his control for all he is worth. Killian wants to reach forward, to gather him into a masculine embrace and offer comfort of some sort, but he does not know if it will cause the lad more pain or if it will do any good at all, when his comfort is certainly not what the boy truly needs.

Finally, Henry draws in a heaving breath, and the words coming rasping from his throat in great gasps, “She’s gone….Killian…My mom…she’s just _gone!_ She brought…all of you…all the way…to _Neverland_ …to save me…when I was taken. …And we…we’re just _waiting!_ …Not going after her…she could be hurt…she could be dying! ...We need to find her!”

Unable to stop himself, Killian pulls Henry in and holds on tight, clutching the lad against his chest awkwardly, but in a hopeful attempt to soothe, rubs his good hand over the boy’s shoulders. “We _will,_ Lad. _I swear it._ She _will not_ be lost from us forever – no matter where she is, we will reach her.”


	2. bring me home

_ ‘will you let me follow you _

_ wherever you go, _

_ bring me home…” _

__

“Emma, no!” the hoarse cry is ripped from his chest before he can think, and is echoed in Henry’s pained exclamation behind him. Killian is already moving, dashing toward her in the next instant, even as the very fabric of the forest glade around them and the air they breathe seems to ripple and wave with expelled energy. It may be only because he is in motion that it doesn’t knock Killian off his feet. He hears Henry stumble, but as concerned as he is for his young compatriot, he cannot take his focus from his Swan now. They have come too far, and she is finally within reach. He knows without question that her boy feels the same.

His vision goes hazy for a moment as the sky above them darkens, wind whips up in buffeting crescendo, and thunder rolls overhead. Even as he is about to touch Emma, something stops him. Killian watches in a near trance as she gives him one last, quick look, then closes her eyes and does as Merlin had instructed her. He sees her lips moving fervently, though he cannot hear her words, and then is shocked when an immense, foreboding black cloud is expelled from her mouth. It rises quickly, and he recoils a bit in apprehension. However, unlike the grasping, hungry ropes this darkness was in Storybrooke when Emma offered herself and it wrapped her in its talons, this cloud is disintegrating, disappearing into nothing before his astonished eyes.

The old wizard was right after all. The key is in the recipient of so much tempting, intoxicating power willingly giving it up after not taking it on in an evil way that adds to its hold. He knew his princess was strong and true, but that she has done what no others could bring themselves to since the Dark Curse’s creation is mind-boggling. Every time Killian thinks he cannot possibly love her more, or be more astounded by her, Emma proves him wrong again.

He is so thrilled by this moment of triumph that he almost manages to forget his concern at the warning Merlin had given along with his advice. Emma has done it! She has freed herself of the darkness and defeated it so it can never be visited on another in such heinous fashion. Surely, she is safe now and they can go home.

Killian’s eyes turn back from the sky to his love, already speaking to her with joy and relief. “You did it, Swan! Bloody brilliant, Lass, as always…” but the words die on his tongue at the sight of her.

Emma gives him a brief, tremulous smile, a gentle sheen of tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Killian…” she breathes out hoarsely, her voice rough and raw, but hers again, not the horrifying rasp it had been when they first found her in true Dark One form in Camelot’s forests, hiding where she would not come into contact with anyone she might harm while she sought control over herself. She doesn’t continue though, and Killian reaches his hand out to forestall her, to make her save her strength. She is deathly pale, trembling like a leaf in a stormy gale, and almost seems to fade away in front of him.

Her eyes roll back in her head, and her breath whooshes from her body. Killian barely manages to dive forward and catch her in his arms as she crumbles lifelessly. He gathers her shockingly light form to his chest, trying desperately not to think of Merlin’s dire warnings now racing through his brain. Henry is at his side in the next instant, reaching out to touch Emma and whispering, “Mom?” so hopefully it nearly breaks the pirate’s ancient, scarred heart.

Emma looks as though the very life has been drained from her along with all the darkness and excess magic. He can only bury his nose in her golden hair, breath in a strengthening whiff of her comfortingly familiar scent, and carry her back the way they have come, hoping against hope there will be something Merlin can do. She has to hold on just a little longer; she _must_. All her bravery, her sacrifice, her fight to survive, cannot be in vain. _He_ will not survive without her.

*********************88888888888888888888888********************

“It is as I feared,” the learned mage of Camelot sighs, sitting back in his chair from where he had been leaning over Emma’s frighteningly still form. Though his eyes hold the knowledge and experience of the ages, his face and body appear almost youthful – nearly as handsomely well-preserved as Killian himself, despite how long Merlin has truly lived. “So _much_ leaving a person at once takes an immeasurable toll. She has truly conquered the Darkness, which none have ever been able to achieve. Yet, as others have found, the human thirst for power, control, and influence feeds on such power. It wove itself into the very fibers of her being; she expelled it, but as these powers have never been rejected before, it is hard to know if the damage can be survived. The force of the Dark Curse has been feeding on evil and desperate souls for ages.”

Killian bows his head, fighting to retain control, if only for the sake of Henry sitting across from him holding his mother’s hand. The very real desire to attack one of the world’s most powerful magicians almost overwhelms him, but it will do no good. Moreover, even if he had stressed the risks before giving Emma the possible solution, Killian knows within himself that it would not have changed her course of action. He bites his lip, holding back harsh, disparaging words or howls of pained despair. She is still hanging by a thread; her light is not snuffed out completely, and so he cannot give up hope.

“There must be something you can do,” he grits out in a tone that manages not to be overtly hostile. “Are you the fabled Merlin of Camelot or no?”

Henry’s big brown eyes rise to seek his, incredulous that the pirate would question such a legend, and then flit over to Merlin as well, pleading in them if there is any possibility the wizard is holding back.

The wise, knowing eyes show deep sympathy, not wanting to hurt this man and boy who have come so far for this heroic, self-sacrificing woman, this _Savior_. He is truly impressed by their faith and belief, the sheer force of the love that has carried them this far. He does not dissuade them to injure; he only wants them to understand the very real chance that it might be too late, beyond what any of them can do.

Sighing, he passes a hand over Emma’s brow, his forehead wrinkling in thought as if he reads something below the surface which cannot be heard aloud. “Alas, it is not up to me,” he states gravely, meeting and holding both pirate and young prince’s gaze in turn. “Whether she will wake again rests entirely upon Miss Swan.”

*******************8888888888888888888888888888*******************

Emma stirs restlessly in her unconscious state, head tossing from side to side on the flat feather pillow of Merlin’s cot. She murmurs ceaselessly, eyelids twitching as though she sees things moving behind them at all times, but nothing that either Henry or Killian can decipher as they keep vigil by his side. They can’t know that within her own mind, Emma is seeing one distressing, horrible scene from her history after another – scenes that she had hoped never to revisit…

_She is three years old and looking on as Beatrice Swan hugs her goodbye, regretful sadness in her eyes, but still firmly turning away from the little girl she had professed to love, leaning into her husband’s side and resting her hand unconsciously on her stomach. Even at three, Emma feels a stab of jealousy at the unborn being stealing the closest she’s ever had to parents and a place to belong; her foster mother’s hand rubbing that slightly distended area seeming to mock her even as they already do the most hurtful thing they could. They’re leaving her behind – alone – as people always do. And once they get in the car and disappear down the driveway of the group home, Emma stands a long time before she goes in, not wanting anyone to see her until she’s sure they won’t see her cry._

__

_She’s six and lies curled up in her bed, the single blanket covering her is threadbare and doing little to keep away the chill in the room she shares with four other girls. The others already don’t like her, a few years older and already buddied up when she’d come to this home a few months back. They are sleeping soundly in the bunk beds, oblivious to the way she tosses and turns on her cot in the corner. At this moment, it doesn’t even occur to her to be bothered by the fact that she’s always left out, always expected to make do with what’s left over. The cold that keeps her shivering this late November night isn’t even what is stealing her sleep. They sent her to bed without anything for supper again. She hadn’t meant to talk back; she’d only been trying to explain herself, but a slap across the mouth and the gnawing hunger she’s suffering now makes her bite her lips against the whimper that keeps trying to escape. It feels as though her stomach is twisting around trying to eat itself. She will live – these particular foster parents aren’t stupid enough to starve them for long enough to attract attention – but she’s still growing and the lack of food is a particularly cruel form of torture._

__

_She is twelve and hiding in a middle school bathroom stall as her two supposed friends giggle and cackle over how easy she has been to fool, how naïve she is for thinking they could really want to be seen with her, how pathetic she looks in her thick, ugly glasses and patched, borrowed clothes…She’s fourteen and cringing in the closet of her bedroom, hoping the drunken lumbering footsteps of the monster she’s been assigned to this time will pass by her closed door…She’s seventeen and handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser, shaking with fear and knowing that this time there won’t be any running, any escape, knowing they’re taking her to jail where they’ll lock her away where no one can be bothered with her inconvenient presence anymore. Even Neal has left her behind; she knows without the proof the next few years will bring that he isn’t coming back for her…_

__

Merlin, Henry and Killian can see her agitation growing worse; even as Emma lingers in a nether world they cannot see. Her brow creases, soft, whines of distress escape her, and tears run in rivulets down her cheeks from under her closed eyelids. As much as her son and her love want to offer comfort, she still seems unaware of them, and they are helpless to bring her back.

_Another flashback washes over her…this one more heartbreaking than all the others. She is barely eighteen and she watches, clinging to the last vestiges of her will and courage, fastened to a prison hospital bed, as they take her little boy away. She barely saw the top of his head, covered with the barest wisps of soft brown hair and already his cries are fading as he is carried from the room. She couldn’t bear to look on him, knowing her resolve to give him his best chance would crumble if she let herself see his innocent face. Still, to never know what her little boy will look like, what he’ll be named, hear his voice…It isn’t just his tiny body that has been pulled away from her; it feels if it a piece of her soul has been ripped out as well…_

__

The endless, nightmare rush of images ceases at last. Lost in a dim fog, Emma doesn’t really know where she is or what has caused the change, only that she is vaguely aware of a comforting pressure on her left hand, when before she could feel little else, and a similar warm press at her forehead touches her for a lovely, fleeting moment. She draws in a shuddering breath, then another, and slowly, surely feels a bit more of herself coming back into focus. For the first time in the seemingly endless floating eternity she has been lost in, Emma wants desperately to open her eyes. If only she could make them obey…

A coaxing voice reaches her ear, wrapping her up, urging her to come back to the speaker with beautiful, lilting tones. She wants to desperately to reach him, can feel the desire rising within her, even as his face remains frustratingly beyond her reach. Another joins, younger, more hopeful, but no less convincing. This one calls her ‘Mom’ and she feels her heart flutter, not understanding for a moment how to reconcile that with the terrible memory that fleeing darkness had just forced her to relive. 

Suddenly Emma finds she wants desperately to return to the people who own these voices, to herself, to her life, even if the visions which have been visiting her are a part of its past. Struggling mightily, she begins to move, enough so that those watching over her can see her valiant effort.

“Killian!” Henry exclaims, breathless excitement in his voice and joy on his face. “Look! She’s starting to wake up!” He clutches her hand tightly in his again, calling to her more urgently. “Mom! Mom! Can you hear me?!”

Killian leans forward, watching his Swan avidly as more animation begins to flit across her face than he has seen in the several days they has spent at her side. He hardly breathes, barely daring to hope. He wants those lovely green eyes looking back at him, to see her again, more than he can remember ever wanting anything before. “Emma?” he asks, so softly only she would be able to hear him.

She shoots upward as she finally claws back into reality; her eyes flying open and scanning everything around her, chest heaving wildly as she draws in quick, fevered gasps of air. Her worried movements only still when she sees first her little boy – not so little anymore – and then her pirate. Their faces are both marred with fatigue and worry, but all the same looking awestruck with happiness to see her again. Her memory rushes back to her; she knows where she is, what she was fighting against, and how far they must have traveled to be sitting on either side of her. The painful reminders of her lost childhood settle back into their places as the rest of her life and the good that have begun to temper the bad return to her as well.

Shakily, she raises a hand to lovingly rest in Henry’s hair, then trace along the side of his face, biting her lip at the sheer love that wells up in her, seeing him safe and well and _with her_. Killian doesn’t begrudge her the moment with her boy, doesn’t interrupt, he simply bends his head to rest against the crown of hers, as if he’s content to simply have her awake and to breathe her in. 

However, it doesn’t take long before that’s not enough for Emma. Gathering Henry to her side, she turns to study Killian, wanting to look on his beautiful face after so long apart. She sucks in a breath, not sure what to say, how to express the ache missing him has been, how to tell him that holding onto he and Henry in her mind is all that kept her sane, all that kept her from letting the Darkness take her over once and for all. 

In the end, she doesn’t say anything before he swoops in and captures her mouth with his in a firm but tender kiss. “I love you as well, Emma Swan,” he affirms, having had to wait too long to say it back to her. 

There is no response she can make to that without falling apart, so instead she nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, relishing the feel of both of them in her arms at last after so long alone. None of them notice the gentle, approving smile on Merlin’s face as the old sorcerer stands to leave them, knowing all will now be well.

“I hoped it…but I was afraid I’d never see either of you again…” she murmurs, trying not to let her voice crack. The reunion still feels so sweet that she doesn’t want to spoil it with what she has been through.

Killian interrupts her, smoothing her hair back from her face and soothing her with his quiet voice and gentle touch. “Don’t think on that anymore, Love. Not now. We’re together once more…and we’re going home.”


End file.
